


Dance of the Pale

by deathmarkedlove_archivist



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-29
Updated: 2007-01-29
Packaged: 2018-12-06 00:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11589255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmarkedlove_archivist/pseuds/deathmarkedlove_archivist
Summary: Buffy and Spike's first time. Set between The Oracle Saga and The End of the World. You don't have to read either to appreciate this story, but it might help to understand their motivation. =) NC-17





	Dance of the Pale

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Hils, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Death-Marked Love](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Death-Marked_Love). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Death-Marked Love collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/deathmarkedlove/profile).

Buffy was relaxing at last in a warm bath that was scented faintly with vanilla. She had almost fallen asleep when she heard the front door slam and then a commotion coming from her room. Annoyed at the interruption, she quietly got out of the bath and put her bathrobe on. It was her favorite. Clean, white and fluffy. She crossed the hall to see that her door was still ajar.

"Dawn? You better not be going through my things!" she called as she pushed the door open.

She was totally unprepared for what she saw. Her best clothes lay strewn about her bed while others hung from her desk chair. Turning to her closet, she saw Spike standing there, in a tuxedo with the tie undone, muttering unhappily to himself. Smiling at last, he pulled out a pale blue dress that shimmered in the light and began to put away the clothes that he had thrown around the room. He noticed that she was standing at the door, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a bout of giggles.

"I never thought I'd see a vampire in drag," she teased.

He summoned a frightening glare and chomped his teeth at her mockingly. She put her hands to her face and said in a small voice. "Oh, no. What ever shall I do?"

He only looked at her, patient as always and handed her the dress. "This is for you to wear, love. Get dressed, get ready and come downstairs in an hour. I have a surprise for you."

"Where is everyone?" she asked, taking it from him.

"Your mum and the kids went out. Dawn too. Now stop dilly dallying and get ready. I'll see you in an hour."

With that, he exited her room and pointedly closed the door behind him. Buffy stared at it, wondering what he was up to and shrugged, shedding her robe. She held the dress against herself and slipped over her head. Sitting down, she let her hair down from the bun she had tied it into before she had stepped into the bathtub. Brushing it slightly, she looked into her vanity mirror at herself.

It had been nearly two weeks since they had finally admitted their feelings for each other. Well, that wasn't quite true. For quite some time, he had let his emotions out to be laid bare before her. Battle, tragedy and rebirth had forced her to open her eyes to see the caring man that still resided within the vampire. Still, she didn't know how she really felt about him. She wasn't ready to call it love, but it was more than affection, and there was an attraction that had been buried for a long time.

She wondered again what Spike was up to. She walked over to her door and opened it up a crack. Wafting up from downstairs was the aroma of oregano. Definitely Italian, but she couldn't tell what. She opened the door further to find out. She took one step into the hallway when she heard Spike. "You still have half an hour! Stay in that room!"

Downstairs

Spike paced through the kitchen, wrestling with his bowtie. It had been at least a century since he last performed the task and it was without doubt not like riding a bicycle. In the oven was the lasagna that Joyce had prepared during the day; it was Buffy's favorite, he knew. Spike and Joyce had schemed about this plan for a week now. He would set everything up and she would take everyone out for a few hours.

Satisfied with the tie, though it hung slightly askew, he set a small round table in the living room that he had dug up from the basement before Buffy woke up that morning and hidden in Joyce's room. Another trip to the basement yielded two shopping bags full of candles, donated covertly a few at a time whenever the gang came over to visit. They were surprisingly agreeable to the romantic evening Spike had planned for Buffy.

Glancing at the clock on the wall as he lit the last candle and saw with dismay that he only had five minutes left. He knew that Buffy was dying to know what he was doing and that she wouldn't wait any more than the hour that he had given her. He pulled the food out of the oven and thankfully, it wasn't burned. Quickly putting good sized portions onto plates he raced into the living room and placed them on the table.

"The wine!" he said out loud to himself.

He reached into the fridge and hurriedly dismissed the idea of an ice bucket no matter how much it would complete the mood he was trying to set. He went back out into the living room and placed it on the table next to the spread. He turned off the lamps on either side of the couch and ran to the bottom of the stairs just in time to hear Buffy's door open.

"I'm coming downstairs, now," she called down, "and there is nothing you can do to stop me."

She appeared at the top of the stairs, and if Spike had a breath in his body, it would have been taken away. She seemed to float down the stairs and as she reached the bottom, he held out his arm to her. She placed her petite hand into the crook of his elbow and he led her into the room. He smiled as she looked around in wonder. Every flat space had at least one candle burning on it, if not three or five. He had moved the coffee table so that there was a table for two set up and clear space over the hardwood floor.

He walked her to the table and held the chair out for her and waited for her to sit. When she did, he poured a glass of wine for the two of them and seated himself.

He held his glass out to her and she picked hers up as well. Clinking glasses, she asked, "What are we toasting?"

"Us, love," he answered.

She smiled happily and dug into her food.

Later

They sat at the table, each enjoying another glass of wine. A beautiful old jazz song started drifting out of the hidden speakers in the living room and Buffy looked up at Spike surprised. Smiling mischievously, he got up and offered his hand to her.

"May I have this dance?"

She placed her hand in his and rose from the table as well. He placed his hand on her waist and she buried her head in his shoulder. They began to sway slowly to the music. One song faded into another and they remained that way through the next three. As the last wails of saxophone drifted away, she pulled away. He kissed her hand and they sat back down at the table. He pulled the remote out from his pocket and turned the volume down on the next song.

She placed her hand out onto the table and he clasped it. "Thank you, Spike. I don't think this night can get any more perfect."

Spike took a deep breath and looked deep into her eyes. "I wrote something for you."

She nodded, urging him to continue. She remembered Spike mentioning that he used to write poetry. He never said if it was any good, but she wanted to hear it anyway. He cleared his throat and began.

When he finished, a tear ran down Buffy's face. "Spike, that was beautiful. You wrote that, for me?"

"I meant every word, Buffy. I love you." He looked at her, trying to gage her reaction. Another tear and she stood up and began walking to the stairs. He pushed his chair out from behind him and ran to cut her off at the bottom of the stairs. "What's the matter, love?"

She turned to face him as more tears swam in her eyes, still unshed. "I'm so sorry, Spike."

He pulled her into his arms and held her as she cried into his chest. "For what?" he asked.

Finally, she pulled out of his embrace. Spike pulled a handkerchief out of his inner pocket and dried her face. She allowed him to and reached up to hold his hand. She pulled them both down and they sat on the steps, facing each other. "I'm so sorry. For the way I treated you, especially after you got the chip. How could you love me?"

"I just did. It was never a question to me," he replied.

"I mean, you were there for me through everything. I don't know how I missed it before. I treated you so badly, and you just waited until I noticed that you were the only man who never left me," she went on, breaking into fresh tears.

"Shh. It's late, love," he answered, pulling them both to their feet. "You need your rest."

They walked up the rest of the stairs and to the door of her room. She pushed open the door and turned to say goodnight when her lips were caught in his.

Her gasp was muffled as he didn't pull away after the first kiss. A kiss from Spike wasn't a new thing to her, but the passion rising in her for him was. Relaxing, she smiled into his lips and traced her fingers up and down in his back, coaxing him to remove his jacket. He did and followed her into the room.

Reaching the middle of the room, they broke apart and stood there for an eternity looking at each other. Slowly, very slowly, he pushed one of the straps of her dress. He began to place small, light kisses on her shoulder and made his way to her neck. There, her breath caught.

Under his lips, he felt her pulse racing. There was a time when that would be the signal to change and sink his fangs into the distressingly thin skin that protected the life blood of a body and drink until there was no more. With not that much effort, he pushed that urge away. Instead, he nipped lightly with his blunt human teeth. He felt her breath in his ear and straightened.

She looked at him coyly and her hands floated up to the collar of his shirt. She tugged on the tie that he had so diligently tied earlier that evening. She undid each button with an air of triumph over each one. When she reached the last one, she carefully slid her hands into the opening that his shirt had created over his chest and pushed it off. Skimming his milky skin, she admired the contrast that it made with hers. She shivered at his coolness, for she felt very warm at the moment. She turned her face up to his, inviting him to kiss her again.

He obliged and their hands flew, quickly stripping away what clothing they had remaining. Reaching down before she could stop him, he carried her to her bed, pulled back the covers and deposited her on her sheets.

She rolled under the covers and made room for him on the bed. He climbed in next to her and pulled the covers up to his chest. She rolled over onto her stomach, still under the comforter and placed a hand under her chin, and stared at him as he stared at the ceiling. She kissed him softly on the lips, put her chin down on his chest and asked, "Second thoughts?"

"Never," he replied confidently, as he ran his hands along her arms. Gently, he pushed her shoulders back onto the pillows and moved so that he was above her. Again, he was at her neck, nuzzling, kissing, biting as his hands moved slowly, on her hips, and around to the small of her back, holding her closer to him. He released her and looked at her, slightly fearful. "What about you?"

She looked at him, breathless, expectantly. She shook her head and held her arms out to him, welcoming.

They moved together, a combination of contradictions. Slayer and vampire, hot and cold, male and female. In the end, neither said a word, but each knew what the other was thinking.

Still not talking, Spike pulled the covers over Buffy and himself. She snuggled next to him, with her head on his chest and one leg thrown over his; possessive in it. For a short time in all the time since he was alive so long ago, he was warm again. He didn't want that feeling to ever stop.

 

 

The End


End file.
